


Take Me Out

by darlingdany



Category: Sanders Sides
Genre: Assassin AU, Human AU, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Very little actual violence, i'm telling you right now that Nobody is going to die lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-05-01 08:58:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14516961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingdany/pseuds/darlingdany
Summary: - hey guys, before you continue, fair warning that i'm not continuing this fic. thanks for enjoying it while it lasted <3Virgil's not sure how he's supposed to assassinate a veterinarian with a heart of gold but if he doesn't figure it out soon, he's going to have a lot more on his plate than he can handle.





	1. good heart

**Author's Note:**

> hi and welcome to ~~chili's~~ my first ever Official multi-chaptered fic!! i'm really nervous about this one but i won't say why because spoilers, maybe? outlining and planning? don't know her. it's a slice of life/romcom, human/assassin au, but don't worry, nobody's actually going to die, because this is me we're talking about. sorry if that gets rid of any dramatic tension??
> 
> warnings: swearing (i mean, it's virgil, so) but i think that's it for this chapter. just let me know if i should add any!  
> comments are appreciated <3 cross posted to my tumblr, notveryglittery!

The manila folder wasn’t particularly thick which, in most cases, was a good thing. It depended on just what it contained. Sometimes, less was more. Virgil liked to do his own research. For all he knew, the information on these pages could have been exaggerated. It didn’t happen often; it usually took less than twenty four hours to know whether or not it rang true.

_Name: Patton Bunker_

A quick Google search told Virgil the last name was derived from _good heart_ in Old French. Off to a good start, then. There was no knowing if Bunker (Virgil avoided referring to them by their first names, lest he get attached, or whatever) had a good heart or not, but Virgil supposed he’d find out soon enough. 

_Age: 26_  
_Occupation: Veterinarian_

Assuming he’d gotten to work fresh out of high school, that meant Bunker was nearly finished with his schooling. What somebody could want a vet dead for, Virgil didn’t have a damn clue, but he knew better than to ask questions. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. God forbid he’d had to put a pet down and the owner wasn’t taking it as well as they said they were. 

_Frequents: Target #687, Third House Books & Coffee, The Bakery Mill, Hippodrome State Theatre, Millhopper Veterinary Medical Center_

_No shit,_ Virgil thought, _he fucking works there_. He ran the locations through Maps and wasn’t surprised to find them all within ten miles of each other. Creatures of habit, Virgil supposed. He shuddered at the very idea of having to go anywhere other than his usual café for coffee. 

His phone buzzed and he picked it up, glancing at the screen. He grimaced. Closing the file and scooping it up, Virgil stalked back inside, slamming the glass door with more force than necessary. He answered the call. 

“What.”

“Hey, boo!”

“Not your boo.”

“Any plans tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh! Virgil! Come _on_! It’s been ages since I saw you!”

“And for good reason.”

“Oh? Name it.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Hey—!”

“And loud, and obnoxious, and you really need to work on understanding _personal space_ —”

“Well, now you’re just being mean.”

“Reputation to keep. You know how it is.”

A sigh, long and drawn out and melodramatic, followed before the voice on the other line finally caved. “ _Fine_. Next time, though, Virge. Promise?” 

“Nope!” Virgil answered cheerily before hanging up. 

Hardly a minute passed before a text came through. It was a string of emojis, half of which showed up as boxes with an X through them because he didn’t have an iPhone. He smirked and sent back a winking face and a middle finger. 

He put the phone on silent and tossed it on the couch as he walked by it, heading for the kitchen. He was surprised, even though he _really_ shouldn’t have been, to find the refrigerator empty. Virgil groaned, “Alright, past me. You at least left something in the pantry, right?” 

_Negative!_ He could almost hear past Virgil mocking present Virgil and he shut the cupboard with a bang. He retrieved his phone and pocketed it, muttering as he pulled his shoes on, “He’d kill me if he knew my plans tonight were grocery shopping.” Virgil tried not to think about somehow accidentally running into his coworker at… 

His eyes caught the folder and he paused to consider his options. He could head to the corner store nearest his apartment. A bit overpriced, sure, but convenient, and the employees knew him well enough by now to know not to bother him. _Or_ he could go to Target store number 687 and scope out the scene. It wasn’t likely he’d run into Bunker on the very first night of being assigned to him— 

_Oh?_ He could practically hear the universe asking, _you’re going to test me like that?_

“Shit,” he swore under his breath. Whatever. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tested fate before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to [nick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky) for giving me feedback while i've been working on this and for the title itself!!  
> shout out to [jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangepatrick) for beta'ing!!  
> updates will come on thursdays! <3


	2. orange you glad

Virgil hated Target. 

It was a hell made of never ending aisles, fluorescent lights, and fake smiles in red shirts. It was cheaply made products at ridiculous costs. Maybe Bunker _did_ have it coming if he shopped at _Target_. 

Taking a cart in from the parking lot (believe it or not, Virgil was capable of good deeds, thank you very much), he made a mental list of all the things he’d need. And then he made a mental list of the things he had the actual patience to buy. Money wasn’t really an issue, not with his profession, and if he could afford his tiny but pricey (the wares were _good_ quality, though) corner store, he could handle Target. It was just a matter of familiarizing himself with the layout of the shop, keeping an eye out for his target (… _damn it_ ), and observing from a distance. 

_It’s not going to happen tonight, anyway,_ Virgil thought resolutely, looking perfectly calm despite the nerves threatening to overcome him. How had he gotten into this again? Twenty-five-year-olds just didn’t accidentally become hitmen. It wasn’t exactly an easy thing to get out of either, which at least explained why he was still here, a year later. Twenty-six and he killed people for a living ( _ha_ ). His mother was probably rolling around in her grave. Virgil was sure, if he believed in ghosts, that his father haunted his apartment and constantly fucked with the wiring and plumbing just to punish him. 

He shook his head, ridding himself of the memories and stupid incoherent thoughts. No better time to think of your dead parents, huh, Virgil? “Not now, moron,” he hissed under his breath, “not in the middle of a _Target_.” 

And in the midst of his brief, brief distraction, his cart crashed noisily into someone else’s. 

“Shit!” he swore, pulling away, and snapping back to reality, crash landing much harder than he would’ve liked. He was in the produce section and he thanked God or whoever that he hadn’t hit a display stand. 

“Language, kiddo!” a voice scolded him — but in a weird warm sort of tone. His eyes found the speaker and —

“Damn it,” Virgil swore again. So much for observing from a distance, huh, Virgil?

The brows of none other than Patton Bunker furrowed and he put his hands on his hips. “Are we going to have to get some soap for that mouth of yours?” And… Virgil watched in slight horror as Bunker pulled a bottle of dish soap out of his cart. He must’ve been waiting for the joke to land and Virgil _almost_ felt bad about disappointing the guy. 

“That’s okay!” Bunker chirped, smile sliding so easily onto his lips, Virgil started to think something was wrong with him. “I’ve got plenty of…” Virgil watched him reach towards what looked to be a shelf of herbs and… _Oh no_ , “ _thyme_ to get a laugh out of you!” 

“You actually only have about an hour before Target closes,” Virgil managed, wondering if the universe had dropped him into some sort of weird alternate timeline. “Sorry for bumping into you,” he apologized, fingers wrapping around the handle of his cart. He backed away but not before first grabbing, blindly, from the fixture next to him. He dropped the orange into his cart. “Just gotta… grab this. Bye.”

“Aw, _orange_ you glad you ran into me!” Bunker called after him, giggling at his play on words. Virgil groaned once positive he was out of earshot. He abandoned the cart and its single citrus fruit and booked it out of the store. He’d find somewhere else for reconnaissance; there was no way he was going to subject himself to anymore puns like that if he had anything to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks [nick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky) for asking when the next chapter was going up and unknowingly convincing me to post it today ;)  
> thanks [jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangepatrick) for beta'ing!


	3. not your babe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pacing? don't know her!

A week went by and Virgil was having a hard time understanding why anyone would want Patton Bunker dead. The dude was a _saint_. He took care of sick animals, he volunteered at soup kitchens, he picked up trash on the side of the road, he gave change to the homeless, he offered to buy gas for the car behind him in line— 

Virgil didn’t get it. Okay, sure, he got how taking care of other people had it’s, like, appeal, but at this rate? Patt— Bunker was going to work himself to death and, like, _whatever_ if he did, but it was Virgil’s job to off the guy, and he was getting paid for it, so, like… 

“Oh, for…” Virgil pressed a palm against his forehead. That was the third customer now that Bunker had bought pastries for. He sat across the street from Third House Books & Coffee, a beanie covering most of his purple hair (it really was the most distinctive thing about him, and he hated it, but Remy refused to let it fade, and okay, so maybe it looked a _little_ edgy, and _maybe_ it fit his aesthetic pretty well), so that Bunker wouldn’t recognize him. Virgil wasn’t risking it, even with the busyness between the two of them. 

A vehicle pulled up directly in front of Virgil’s line of sight and he scowled at it. It was a garish thing, bright cherry red, a Porsche maybe, and obnoxious as hell. The driver stepped out and closed the door behind him, running a hand lovingly over the exterior. Virgil hid his gagging behind his hand. The man looked both ways before crossing the street to the café. 

“Well, I’ve gone blind,” Virgil muttered, dumping his untouched drink in the nearest trashcan (it wasn’t his usual, he’d only bought it so they didn’t kick him out for loitering on their patio) and making his way back home. He thought he’d been in the clear but turning a corner led him face to face with a stranger in a dark blue polo. 

Virgil stumbled back, figurative hackles rising, and he very nearly hissed from the physical contact. He resisted, barely, and used his twitching fingers as a way to get rid of his excess energy. 

“Pardon me,” the man said, adjusting his glasses. There was an open book in one of his palms and Virgil wondered how many other people he’d had close calls with. 

“Sure that’s such a good idea?” Virgil asked, gesturing to the novel, eyebrows raised, and— Why was he making conversation right now? 

The man snapped the hardcover shut and tucked it underneath his arm. “I suppose not,” he admitted, looking frustrated at having to do so. “Thank you for…” He paused, as if struggling for the words, “looking out for me.”

Virgil couldn’t help his stammering. “Wh- what? I’m… I wasn’t… That’s not what I…” 

“I must be on my way,” interrupted the stranger, “farewell.” 

Just like that, Virgil was alone again, and he had half a mind to really, properly curse the universe. This was more human interaction in the span of eight days than he’d had in about a month. Sure, it might have been because he’d been using DoorDash for dinner instead of actually buying groceries, and besides giving the deliverer his gratitude in the form of a single word, he hadn’t properly spoke face to face with anyone in… awhile. 

The universe apparently had an answer for that, too. He arrived at his apartment to find the welcome mat folded in one corner, as if it’d been tripped over. He definitely hadn’t left it like that. Virgil tested the knob; his eyes narrowed when it turned easily in his grasp. Reaching for the inner pouch of his zip-up sweater, his hand curled around the pocketknife he was rarely found without. Nudging the door open slowly, his eyes darted towards the kitchen, to the immediate left of the entry, and— 

He threw the door open the rest of the way, “Remy, what the _fuck_!”

Remy _screeched_ , dropping the bowl he’d been holding. It was plastic (Virgil knew better than to have glass kitchenware) so all it did was clatter loudly to the floor, spilling its contents. Virgil shut the door behind him and tossed his weapon onto the laminate counter while Remy calmed down. 

“Babe, come on, warn a dude next time!”

“Not your babe,” Virgil ground out, rounding the counter and, careful of where he stepped, crowding into Remy’s space. “Why are you in my apartment?”

“I _know_ you’ve been living on takeout and that is _unacceptable_ ,” Remy snapped, jabbing a finger against Virgil’s chest. He staggered back from the force of it and slipped on whatever it was Remy had been making. He was further mortified when Remy caught him by the fabric of his jacket. 

“Get off of me,” Virgil growled, shoving Remy away, and storming out of the kitchen. 

“I’m feeding you tonight!” Remy yelled and the sounds of him cleaning up followed Virgil into his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout outs again to nick and jack, i'm just too lazy this time for links,,,


	4. red hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is heavy on the sleepxiety and is high key one of my favorite chapters.  
> i hope y'all like it <3

”I brought hair dye,” Remy said around a mouthful of leafy greens.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Virgil admonished with a mouth equally full of bread and deli meat. Remy almost choked on his salad when he snorted. 

Virgil couldn’t even be mad anymore that Remy had broken into his apartment, with three bags worth of groceries, and made him enough meals to last a week. He was too busy savoring the taste of real food, not processed fast food, and maybe while he was feeling full physically, he was also feeling full emotionally at the prospect of somebody taking care of him. 

“I have blue this time, too,” Remy offered, washing his bite down with a swig of Virgil’s favorite brand of sweet tea ( _damn_ it, Remy really knew how to soften him up). “In case you’re getting tired of the purple, I mean.”

“I’m getting tired of colored hair,” Virgil lied, as he always did when this conversation came up. 

“You’re going to look so badass,” Remy gave a very solemn nod, like some sort of actually serious person. It didn’t last long because in the next moment, he was shoveling a handful of Reese’s Pieces down his throat. 

“Stop that,” Virgil demanded, “I know you’re the champion of gag reflexes, but come on.” 

This time, Remy _did_ choke, spewing bits of chocolate all over the coffee table. Virgil couldn’t stifle it; he burst into laughter, too caught up in it to even help Remy catch his breath. “That was extremely rude!” Remy gasped, looking offended for all of two seconds before he joined Virgil in his sniggering. “I’m proud of you, though, that was a good one.” 

An hour later found them with some Netflix original playing in the background while Virgil sat on the floor with a towel draped over his shoulders. Remy hovered above him, gloves crinkling every time his hands set to work on a new strand of hair. 

“Any gossip to share?” Remy asked, popping his gum loudly, something he knew annoyed Virgil but continued to do, anyway. Virgil tried to elbow him in the ribs for it but missed terribly.

“Oh, my life is absolutely fascinating,” Virgil deadpanned, “I’ve got so much exciting news.” 

“What about your current job?”

Virgil groaned, very nearly dropping his head into his hands. “Don’t even get me started.”

Remy clicked his tongue. “Girl. Spill.” 

And so Virgil did. It was really as much as he felt comfortable with, though; nothing specific, like name or work location. He mostly vented about how he was supposed to be killing a guy that was apparently an angel from heaven or whatever. “He’s just so… _nice_ ,” Virgil finished, saying the word like it tasted weird on his tongue. 

“Well,” Remy hummed, “the nice ones tend to have more to hide.” He peeled the gloves off and tossed them, moving to sit in front of Virgil. He laid his hands out, palms down; Virgil slid his open hands underneath Remy’s. 

“I guess?” Virgil wasn’t sure he meant it to come out as a question, but, “I’ve been watching him for a week. Wouldn’t he have slipped by now?” His hands darted out, aiming to slap the top of Remy’s, but the other yanked them away too quickly. They switched positions.

“He might just be really good,” Remy shrugged, watching Virgil’s twitching fingers. “Who knows, maybe he’s been at this for awhile.” His hands came down on Virgil’s and the comment had him sufficiently distracted enough for Remy to land the hit. 

Virgil glared at him before scrutinizing their hands again. “What, he’s been at this for all the time he’s been going to school to _take care of the sick and injured_?” This time, Virgil pulled away quick enough for Remy’s attack to miss. 

Remy’s hands settled atop Virgil’s. “I’m just saying. Have you kept an eye on him at night?” 

Virgil quit the game immediately, dropping his hands into his lap. “Actually, per your request, _Sandman_ ,” the title came out dripping with sarcasm and Remy looked insulted, “I’ve been trying to get some proper sleep lately.”

Remy crossed his arms over his chest. “Well.” He sniffed daintily, “I guess even if you haven’t been _eating_ right, at least you’ve been doing _something_ right.”

They watched a couple episodes of the television show, making fun of the bad special effects, before Remy sprawled out on Virgil’s couch, knocked out. Virgil’s hair was wet and he was probably dripping hair dye everywhere, but whatever, he knew he wasn’t getting the deposit back on this apartment, anyway. 

“Night, Rem,” he said, far more gently than he’d ever let the other actually hear. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nick and jack still mean the world to me for being encouraging and helpful and The Best <3  
> see previous chapters for their links, because i have a headache and am feeling too lazy/tired to put them in here


	5. cat puns

The stray cat that lived somewhere in his apartment complex was pregnant. Virgil only knew this because he was pretty sure nobody was feeding it and cats didn’t just get all round bellied for nothing. It was the best excuse he was going to get, to be honest. If he could just get Bunker to admit to being less than the saint he appeared to be, then maybe Virgil’d finally understand why someone had put a hit on him. He went digging around in his storage unit for the pet carrier he’d had actual use for, like, ten years ago. He lured the cat in with food and drink and made sure there was a blanket for her to curl up in and took her to Millhopper Veterinary Medical Center. 

‘ _This is a very bad idea,_ ’ his subconscious was saying as he pulled into the parking lot, ‘ _you’re supposed to be subtle. Quiet. Invisible._ ’

He glared at his reflection in the rearview mirror. His subconscious shut up. 

Cradling the carrier against his chest, Virgil bumped the door open with his hip, and entered the establishment. Each wall was painted in a different pastel color with paw prints trailing along in every direction. The lighting was warm and soft. An employee sat at a desk directly across from the door; behind it hung a sign that read _we’ll **bee** right with you!_ and was decorated with flowers. 

Virgil snorted. 

“Oh, so that one got you, but not my grocery jokes?!” 

Virgil startled, nearly dropping the cage. The cat meowed angrily at being jostled so roughly. Patto— Bunker had appeared out of thin air and was frowning at Virgil. His arms were crossed over his chest and it looked as if he was trying to come off as upset but… Virgil could see the twinkle in his eyes even with the space between them. 

“Oh. You…” Virgil played dumb, tilting his head and letting his eyes go wide with surprise. “You work here?” He huffed, “of all the clinics for me to pick…” Virgil shifted on his feet, looking around the room once more before finally offering a tentative smile. If everything went smoothly, he’d never have to talk to Bunker again after this. Until then, he had to be… ugh, _nice_. “My apartment complex’s stray cat is pregnant.”

Bunker’s hands flew up to come together underneath his chin as he let out a very high pitched squeal. Virgil winced. The man rushed forward and Virgil held the carrier out so Bunker could grab it by the handle. He did so and Virgil took a step back when the veterinarian didn’t move out of his space. 

“I’m Patton, by the way!!” He introduced himself, extending his free hand. Virgil, because he wasn’t an idiot, shook it. 

“Vee,” was all he offered in return. 

“Well, Vee, it’s a _purr_ leasure to meet you!” Patton (Virgil decided but _only_ because of the current situation) looked immensely pleased with himself, as if he didn’t probably make the joke anytime he met someone new at the clinic. The employee behind the desk, who Virgil noticed now had hair the color of a cotton candy sunset, groaned.

“… Same.” 

“Alright, let’s see how this sweet girl is doing!” Patton cooed, hurrying towards a door on the left. There were a couple of entryways leading out of the lobby; a glass one behind the desk, to the right of it, showed a view of what must’ve been an outdoor area for the animals. “Follow me,” Patton encouraged when Virgil stood still by the front door. 

“Oh, uh.” Shit. “She’s not mine so, like…” 

“Nonsense!!” Patton exclaimed, moving back towards Virgil, and taking his wrist in his hand. Virgil yanked his arm away and out of the other’s grasp, baring his teeth in a snarl. Patton’s eyes went wide and for a moment, time seemed to freeze, and then Virgil’s heart was hammering against his chest, and he swore under his breath, wondering how he’d fucked up so badly, in so little time, and— 

“That was _fur_ ocious, kiddo!” Patton giggled, heading away once more, gesturing for Virgil to join him. At this point, Virgil was blue screening, and let his feet lead the way.

The door opened into a wider room but Virgil figured he’d look around on his way out, paying attention to the back of Patton’s head as he chattered on about dogs or something. They ended up in an empty room and Virgil hovered at the threshold. Patton didn’t seem to mind as he went about letting the cat out, and petting her a bit, before bustling around the room for various tools. Virgil had no idea what he was doing, obviously, but he noticed that the longer Patton spent around the cat, the more frequently he was sniffling. 

“Are…” No fucking way. “Are you allergic to cats?” 

Patton shrugged, “it’s okay! I take medicine before coming in to work!” 

“There are literally _so many other_ professions and you picked the one that could _kill you_.” Virgil was going to rip his hair out. Who the hell had put a hit on this guy and how was Virgil supposed to go through with it now? A veterinarian that was allergic to felines but still came in to take care of them. Allergy medicine kicked ass, Virgil knew this, and he wondered if Patton ever drove after taking a dose. At this point, falling asleep at the wheel was going to get him before Virgil would.

“— but they’re so cute!” Patton was saying, scratching the cat behind her ears. She was purring so loudly, Virgil could hear it from the doorway. “Somebody has to, y’know?” 

“No.”

Patton gave him a strange look. “Well, what do you do for a living?” 

“That’s none of your business,” Virgil bit out before he could stop himself, and _damn it_ , he was normally so _good_ at this. 

“Got it,” Patton winked, “it’s _purr_ sonal.” 

“You already used that one.”

“Did not!” Patton pouted but he looked thrilled that Virgil had responded to the pun at all. 

“I gotta go,” Virgil said suddenly. There was no way he could stay here a minute longer. “Can you just… I don’t know, keep her overnight?” 

Patton looked like he wanted to say something but he eventually just smiled (it didn’t reach his eyes) and nodded. Virgil filed that away for later thinking. “We’ll make it work. _Sea_ you later, Vee!” 

“That one doesn’t even make sense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nick and jack continue to be the best, i hope y'all know that by now :')


	6. all wise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi !! thank you for your patience on this update!! i hated chapter six but loved chapter seven so i was really struggling figuring out what to do. i finally just ended up putting them together so this is the longest chapter yet, technically, i think! 
> 
> warnings: alcohol/drinking, swearing

“I want a new case.”

“Abandoning the current one, then?”

“Did I say that?”

“Well… uh, no.”

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t put words in my mouth, thanks.”

“Listen, you know the rules—”

“And when have I _ever_ followed them?” 

A pause. “Fine, but only because you were requested recently, anyway.”

“Really?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised. Expect the file by tomorrow morning.” 

A click followed and Virgil hung up the phone. He sat still for a moment before letting out a very long breath that he didn’t quite realize he’d been holding. He slid down in the chair he’d been sitting in for the last hour until he was angled almost uncomfortably and stared up at the night sky. His neighbor was smoking on their balcony and he sent a halfhearted glare their way. 

This was ridiculous. It’d been three weeks since he’d received Patton Bunker’s file and all he’d accomplished was this terrible habit of thinking more frequently in puns. There was also the kitten, but whatever. Virgil got up and slunk back inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His new pet was curled up on the couch, sleeping peacefully. Toys were strewn about the floor and a blanket was half unraveled on the recliner. Still, he couldn’t even be mad; the kitten was dark as night and had already caused more trouble than ought to be possible for how small he was, but damn it, if he wasn’t cute as hell. 

Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Remy’d say he was going soft. 

He wandered into his bedroom and shed his hoodie, swapping it for a sweater that was fraying at the edges of both sleeves. He changed into a pair of sweatpants that were so long he’d lost count of how many times he’d tripped over them. He washed his face and brushed his teeth and pushed the hair out of his eyes with a simple black headband. He went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and grabbed an almost empty box of Wheat Thins. 

Setting the drink and snacks on the coffee table, Virgil laid down on his back in the space between the table and the couch and pulled out his phone. The clock read _1:43am_. 

“Time’s an illusion,” Virgil said into the empty apartment. 

To: E  
_you up_

Virgil scrolled Tumblr while he waited for a response, knowing already that it would take less than a minute to get one. 

From: E  
_yeah. you ok?_

To: E  
_i dunno. can you talk?_

It took a few more minutes before his phone buzzed in his hands (he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had the ringer on). Virgil answered and put the speaker to his ear, closing his eyes. 

“Hey, Virgil.”

“Hi.”

“It’s almost two in the morning. What happened to being in bed by one?”

“Oh, you know.” 

“… Wanna talk about it?”

There was a long stretch of silence but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. There were a couple noises on the other end, shuffling or the muffled notes of a song playing. 

“You ever wonder why we’re here?”

“Pft,” the other snorted, “now you’re just quoting _Red vs. Blue_.” 

“Yeah.”

“Seriously, Virgil. Is there anything—”

“I’m fine, E. Just late night existential dread. Nothing new.”

“We could meet for coffee tomorrow?”

“… Sure.” 

From there, the conversation dwindled to various memes and vine references until they both grew tired enough to fall asleep to the gentle sound of each other’s breathing though the line. Virgil didn’t feel _better_ exactly, but his mind was quiet enough that he could rest easily enough without waking up in any sort of panic. 

If he came to in the morning with a dead phone and a crick in his neck, that was fine, because he also came to with a kitten snuffing at his ear and the sun streaming in warmly through the balcony door. He started his morning with a glass of water and a handful of Wheat Thins and got to work. 

* * *

_Name: Logan Alvis_

Old Norse for _all wise_. Virgil sighed. It wasn’t often he recognized the photo in a file. It happened so rarely he could count it on one hand. Of course, though, of _fucking course_ , he knew the face staring back at him. 

_Age: 27_  
_Occupation: Co-Owner of Third House Books & Coffee_

Wait, what. 

_Frequents: Hippodrome State Theatre, The Bakery Mill, Earth Fare, Alachua County Libraries (Millhopper and Tower Road Branches), Third House Books & Coffee_

_No shit,_ Virgil thought, feeling a bit nervous, _he fucking works there._

It was just a coincidence. Just because Patton visited the café often didn’t mean he _knew_ Alvis; maybe they just had really good coffee and pastries. Virgil thought back on the day he’d kept an eye on Patton and didn’t _recall_ him having any sort of interaction with… Virgil threw his head back and groaned. He’d bumped into Alvis while _leaving_ and for all he knew, Third House Books  & Coffee was where they’d planned on meeting up. At this rate, Virgil’s next hit was going to be the dude with the obnoxious car. 

Virgil shoved the file off of the table and was disappointed at the utter lack of satisfaction from it.

It was nearing eleven at night when he called Remy. 

“ _Ugh_ , Virgil, _what_ could you possibly want at this hour?” 

“Let’s go out.”

In the time it took Remy to formulate a response, Virgil was already out of his apartment. 

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’ve had a shit day.”

Remy actually crowed, like some fucking Peter Pan wannabe. “I’ll meet you at the University Club!” 

He’d woken up on his living room floor, with tense muscles but warm skin. He’d checked his mail and gone over the information sent to him. He’d canceled the coffee meet up. He’d sulked around his apartment, strumming angrily on his electric guitar (and no doubt pissing off his neighbors in the process). He’d considered getting this all over with and just taking care of Patton and Alvis in one go. He’d taken a four hour nap, called Remy, and suggested they go clubbing. 

“I’m _so_ happy you called me instead of spending another night on Tumblr,” Remy was saying, an arm looped around his neck. “You really need to get out more, hun, and especially with me, I am a _delight_ to hang out with.”

“Not your hun,” Virgil argued halfheartedly. 

The moment they stepped into the nightclub, Virgil felt regret settle over him like a heavy blanket. It was too loud, and the lights were flashing too brightly, and there were too many people in not enough space. He nearly froze on the spot but Remy continued pulling him forward, to the bar, where he ordered them drinks. 

“Virgil,” and Remy sounded so serious, Virgil couldn’t help but to snap out of his growing panic for just a moment to meet his eyes. “It’s one night. Just a few hours. Trust me, you’ll be fine.” 

Remy handed him a shot glass filled with an amber liquid and smirked at him. Virgil downed it. 

Somebody was on stage, singing along to some pop song Virgil vaguely recognized. His scarf was practically falling off, looking more like a sash than anything else, as he danced around. He was actually decent and it looked like he was having fun up there and Virgil had to give the guy props. There was no way _he’d_ ever have the guts to— 

“We’re up next, Virge!” Remy shouted into his ear. 

Well, he was about two drinks and three shots in at this point. 

Virgil wouldn’t remember in the morning what song Remy had picked. He just sang along as the words scrolled by on the screen. He laughed when Remy tripped over the untied laces of one of his boots. He hopped off the stage to the sounds of people cheering and applauding. He caught Remy as he followed, jumping with much less coordination, and only pretended to be annoyed when they landed in a heap on the floor. 

“That was impressive,” said a voice from above the pair and Virgil blinked passed the lights to find the _wow_ way more good looking now that Virgil could see him up close— 

“Hey!!” Remy exclaimed, clambering to his feet, “you were up there before us! Girl, you _killed_ it!” He giggled and shot Virgil a look since he was the only one who’d get the joke. 

Virgil was rolling his eyes as he stood, swaying a little unsteadily. Remy wrapped an arm around his waist. 

“I think we gave you a run for your money, though,” he continued with easy confidence. “The edgelord here could take you, probably.”

“Thanks,” Virgil and the stranger said in the same moment. Heat raced across his skin but Virgil just assumed it was because of the alcohol. 

“I’ve never seen you here before,” said ridiculously handsome guy.

“Oh, he’s a homebody,” Remy answered for him, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of his head. Virgil, having kept an eye this whole time on the newcomer, watched in fascination as something — jealousy? confusion? disappointment? — flashed through his eyes.

“Get off,” Virgil groused, “I need some water.” 

He broke away from Remy and brushed by the man, mumbling an apology. Whether it was for Remy’s behavior or for bumping into him or _whatever_ , Virgil didn’t know, and this was really why he hated drinking, he got all weird and mushy, or weird and mopey, or just plain weird honestly, because his thoughts turned into long run on sentences, and pump the _fucking brakes, Virgil!_

He clutched the cool glass in one hand and pushed his damp bangs off of his forehead with the other. He grabbed an ice cube and ran it over his flushed skin, navigating the crowd until he found an empty table in the corner. For ten minutes, he sat there, sipping at his water, and keeping an eye out for Remy, and cooling down from the high of performing in front of a shit ton of strangers, ugh, Virgil, why did you do this to yourself _ugh ugh ugh_. 

Remy appeared, dropping into the chair across from him. 

“I’m gonna have to bail,” he said and his lips looked a little swollen and… 

“Oh, Rem, gross,” Virgil snapped, not actually meaning it. 

Remy must’ve picked up on the teasing in his tone because he just gave Virgil a big, cheeky grin. “Can you make it home okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil was waving his hand already, as if dismissing the other, “last time I come out with you, though.” 

Remy pouted at him for two full seconds before bouncing out of his chair and swooping into Virgil’s space. 

“I love you,” he cooed, peppering kisses into Virgil’s hair. 

“Ew,” Virgil laughed, grabbing Remy’s hips and squeezing, “love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks [nick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky) for finally convincing me to post akjlshdf  
> thanks [jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangepatrick) for beta'ing!!
> 
> find me at [notveryglittery](https://notveryglittery.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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